Hilda Weiss: “I wrote in my journal: ‘My neighbor has given me meat bones, an odd & generous gift. Beef for stew.’ Poetry—it’s going inside; getting under the edge to see what it feels like there in the dark under the surprise—you didn’t need to do that. What did I say? ‘Yes, I like to cook.’ I went on from there in my journal riffing back and forth between the experience and what it triggered until the poem found its shape.” (web)